


Maybe

by Syrum



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/F, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Pining, Poe POV, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-12 01:02:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5648122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrum/pseuds/Syrum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Poe had to admit that he missed his jacket, just a little.  It was warm, comfortable, familiar, and the weight of the heavy leather around his shoulders almost felt like he was being embraced by the fabric.  Almost.</i>
</p>
<p>Poe is entirely head over heels in love with Finn, but it's fairly clear that Finn's got his eye on Rey.</p>
<p>So why is Finn still wearing Poe's jacket?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe

Poe had to admit that he missed his jacket, just a little. It was warm, comfortable, _familiar_ , and the weight of the heavy leather around his shoulders almost felt like he was being embraced by the fabric. Almost.

But the jacket was gone, as was his droid and the unfairly attractive Stormtrooper who had facilitated his escape. Poe was, in fact, certain that he would not have escaped with his life had Finn not appeared for him, and there was little he could truly say or do to thank the man for his assistance. He had tried, of course, but stumbling over his own tongue and mis-pronouncing simple words did not make for adequate recompense when compared to what Finn had done for him, continued to do for him.

Still, no one could truly blame him; the man was gorgeous, sex incarnate, and never before had Poe _wanted_ quite as he wanted Finn. It could have been the remaining narcotics in his system talking - from the torture only an hour or so before - or simply the adrenaline of the situation, but standing facing the unmasked Stormtrooper for the first time it took everything Poe had not to simply pin the man against the wall and kiss him senseless.

He hadn’t had a name then. Now, he was Finn, missing in action and Poe _ached_ in a way he knew he shouldn’t, for a man he had barely known.

Then, without warning, he was back. Back, and wearing Poe’s jacket. _“Keep it, it suits you.”_ And it did. The jacket hugged every curve, sat neatly across Finn’s broad shoulders, pulled in all the right places. It looked as though it had been made for the man, he thought, not able to help the way his eyes wandered over Finn’s form, devouring him. Nor could he help the little, possessive voice in the back of his mind at the sight of the ex-Stormtrooper in _his_ jacket. _Mine_ he had thought to himself, and found that he wasn’t referring to the jacket, biting down on his lower lip to silence any inappropriate thoughts that might try to slip out.

He did not miss the slight flash of discomfort on Finn’s face as his gaze flicked back up to meet the man’s eyes, Poe’s own expression immediately shuttering. _“You’re a good man, Finn.”_ It had broken the tension, and Finn had not mentioned it again, though Poe could not help the slight disappointment that flared in his belly.

And yet, Finn _had_ kept the jacket. Beyond that, he’d insisted on wearing it, had barely taken the thing off since his return. Even after his encounter with Kylo Ren, they had dragged Finn back barely alive, _still_ wearing the jacket. Poe had followed after him, had stuck close, remaining until he was no longer allowed to stay in the room. He had taken the jacket with him, then; it was stained with Finn’s blood, shredded shoulder to hip where the lightsaber blade had torn through the thick leather.

It had _helped_ , they said. It had given Finn the extra few millimetres that meant they could _fix_ him. He was alive, and he would walk again, all because he had been wearing Poe’s jacket.

Poe had never been particularly good with a needle and thread, but he knew how to clean. It took hours of gentle scrubbing, but finally the red stain on the leather began to lift, returning to the soft brown he knew well. In the end. he had to clean the whole thing; turns out it was more stained than he thought, through years of wear, and by the time he was finished it almost looked like a new jacket.

Except, he thought, for the large slash running down the back and the singed hole just below the right shoulder seam. That, he knew he couldn’t fix, not so that the thing might be wearable again. There were others, though, more talented in such things than he. Jess had laughed at him, poked fun at him for the obvious crush he was harbouring, and then took the jacket anyway. Her girlfriend might be able to do something with it, she said.

And she had. Three days later and Poe was sporting a fully repaired jacket and a stupid grin across his face. While he couldn’t exactly show Finn, he could certainly leave it in the room for the man to find once he woke up. And he _would_ wake up, they had said as much when he had been brought in, after the worst of the blood was cleaned away and the healing process began. While Poe might have doubted the word of a doctor, he had no reason to do so where the medical droids were concerned. Medical droids did not lie, _could_ not lie. It just wasn’t in their programming.

He had intended on leaving the jacket over the back of the chair beside the bed Finn had been allocated, perhaps to sit and talk to him for a while, hoping he might hear at least some of what Poe had to say. And if not, well, Poe’s presence at the very least seemed to stave off the nightmares that sometimes wracked Finn’s otherwise perfectly still form, night terrors disturbing the healing sleep and yet not quite enough to wake him.

Someone else had clearly had a similar idea; as he reached the doorway, Poe found the chair occupied, a soft lilting voice carrying from the room, and as much as he was curious he certainly did not wish to intrude. A glance inside confirmed his suspicions; Rey sat beside the still form of her friend, gripping his hand as though it were a lifeline. She did not seem to notice his presence, her focus entirely on the man before her, and as Poe watched she leaned over to press a kiss to Finn’s forehead.

_Oh_ , that hurt more than it should have. Reeling back, Poe resolved to return later, striding away from the medical bay in search of something to occupy his mind, or at the very least his hands. The mess hall was too busy, hanger bay too far away and likely thrumming with activity at that time of the day, and so he made his way out to the scrap pile. It was a reasonable distance from the main base for a reason; certain parts had a habit of catching fire or exploding, and though dangerous it was a good source of spare parts for the various ships, vehicles and droids.

As he had hoped, the place was deserted, and it was simple enough to find a damaged crate to sit on that hadn’t rotten through just yet. Draping the jacket over his lap, Poe stared at it for several long moments. He was being ridiculous, he knew; Finn was his _friend_ , nothing more, and what he and Rey got up to was none of his business. Still, that didn’t help the ache of longing in his chest, or the surge of jealousy at the thought of the two of them together.

_You’re a mess, Dameron. Get a grip._

He waited until after dark before heading back, at first wallowing in an indulgent self pity for a while, then working out a way to get his emotions under control around the ex-Stormtrooper so that Finn wouldn’t work out that something was wrong. Poe was happy for them, _really_. Rey was a nice girl, and closer to Finn’s age than Poe. She was pretty too, they would be good together, even if it meant that Poe had to bite his tongue and figure out how to _move on_. Because, no matter how he looked at it, there was no denying that Poe was stupidly head over heels in love with the guy, and it was entirely inappropriate.

Poe was all smiles again by the time he made it back, breezing into the infirmary as though it was the most natural thing in the world. If his breath caught a little in his throat at the sight of Finn stretched out on the stark white sheets, well, no one else was there to witness it but himself.

“Hey, buddy.” Draping the jacket over the back of the single chair by the bed, Poe reached out to take Finn’s hand, offering the man a blinding smile, even if he couldn’t see it. “Thought I’d come keep you company for a bit, now that Rey’s gone.” He wasn’t entirely certain where; off-world, somewhere, in a planetary system he couldn’t identify. The chair was cold beneath him, metal pressing a chill into his thighs even through his pants, so she must have left a while ago, taking her body heat with her. He couldn’t remember a ship taking off, but then again he hadn’t really been paying attention.

“I, ah...I fixed your jacket.” His jacket, _their_ jacket. “Figured you’d need it when you’re back on your feet; it gets cold at night, here. Don’t want you catching a chill, right?” He paused, as though waiting for an answer, knowing one wasn’t likely to be forthcoming. “Well, Jess helped. Mostly, I just cleaned it. It looks almost new, hope you don’t mind.” Finn in all likelihood _wouldn’t_ mind, Poe reasoned. Finn didn’t seem to mind much of anything; he was sweet, too kind, and that in itself was a torturous kind of pain.

The silence stretched on, as Poe - talkative, outgoing, motormouth as Jess would call him - ran out of things to say. Or, rather, things he _could_ say, and those that he _couldn’t_ voice seemed to have taken over most if not all of his thought processes. Instead, he sat and watched, thumb rubbing circles over the back of Finn’s hand, looking for a response, _anything_ to indicate that the man could hear him at all. The steady buzz of machines continued, as did the rise and fall of Finn’s chest, and nothing else changed.

“Look, I better go, I’ve got manoeuvres with the squad tomorrow at dawn, need to get some shut-eye.” Poe wasn’t certain why he was making excuses, if it even mattered. He lingered for a moment, even after he stood, staring down at the other man and still grasping Finn’s still fingers within his own. “Love you, buddy.” He finally murmured, leaning in to press a quick, chaste kiss to Finn’s forehead before leaving swiftly.

Finn did not awaken for another six weeks. The damage had been severe, and they wanted to ensure that there was no permanent spinal injury before he was allowed to finally open his eyes once more. Three of his vertebrae had been replaced with a biomechanical alternative, Poe found out from reading the medical files he wasn’t truthfully supposed to have access to, and the muscles in his shoulder had been rebuilt almost from scratch. The lightsaber had cauterised much of the wound as it tore through Finn’s flesh, and while that had saved him from bleeding out, it had also meant that the recovery period was prolonged and more difficult as the live tissues refused to knit together without assistance.

Poe had visited Finn most days while he was unconscious, and only marginally less once he was awake, the decrease mostly due to the physical therapy Finn was having to endure and the daily submersion in the bacta tank taking up much of his time rather than any conscious decision on Poe’s part to keep his distance. _Friend_ he reminded himself, near enough constantly, smiling and laughing and trying to remain _normal_ , even as he ached to reach out and hold Finn, to help with the pain, to do anything possible just for a moment of skin on skin contact.

“He’s still wearing that jacket of yours.” Snap hummed at him one morning on the way to breakfast, bumping against his side and grinning.

“It’s not what you think.” Poe sighed in return, avoiding the other man’s eyes and Snap’s grin faded on his lips. “He’s just a friend, nothing more.”

“One who wears your _clothes_.” Stopping short, Snap reached out to grab Poe’s arm, stilling him before they could reach the excitable hum of the mess hall. “You _know_ what that means, man. That’s not ‘just a friend’.”

“It is when he’s a man who doesn’t have anything.” Poe shot back, pulling his arm away and offering Snap a level stare. “You wanna know why he still wears the jacket? Because he hasn’t _got_ one of his own. Because no one’s given him the chance to _earn_ one and he hasn’t exactly had the job opportunities so he can _buy_ one either.” He paused for a moment, shuffling his feet slightly, a look of almost regret passing his features at the outburst. “He saved my life. He almost lost his own, making sure that we succeeded in our mission. He’s turned against everything he knows to help us, and all I ever hear are whispered rumours of _stormtrooper_ and jibes about my damn jacket.”

“Look, I’m just sayin’, if you’ve heard the stuff people’re saying about the jacket then so’s he, and he’s _still wearing it_. If you’re not interested in him like that fine, but you need to tell him.” Snap threw an arm over Poe’s shoulder, keeping his voice low as the foot traffic in the hall steadily increased. “Kid’s been through enough already, don’t go breakin’ his heart too.”

“That’s the problem, I _am_ interested.” With a groan, Poe let himself be tugged forward, Snap’s need for food overriding his desire to talk some sense into his friend for the moment. “Finn doesn’t need an old man like me following after him like some love-sick pup.” Snap snorted at that, tightening his hold.

“So you’re happy to let him do the following instead? Bud, you’ve already marked him as yours and he’s accepted that, so go _claim_ him already.” Poe couldn’t help the slight spark of hope that flared in his chest at the thought. Maybe Snap was right, maybe the fact that Finn was still wearing his jacket despite the rumours _did_ mean something. Sure, he’d seen the way Rey and Finn looked at each other, the happy longing in Finn’s eyes whenever he talked about how _wonderful_ she was, but the more he thought on it, the more he wondered if maybe, _maybe_ -

If the history books and the stories bandied around the Resistance were to be trusted, and Poe had no reason to believe otherwise, General Organa’s relationship with the Jedi Luke Skywalker had started in much the same fashion as Rey and Finn’s, though Poe was not delusional enough to hope that the pair might _actually_ be related in some fashion. Still, the spark in the General’s eyes when she spoke of her brother, that sibling bond, it was not entirely dissimilar to the one Finn carried now. And so, with a smile on his lips and a spring in his step, Poe continued to carry around his silent _maybe_ and hoped.

“Hey, uh, Poe? Can we talk?” Poe had turned, grin as wide as ever, the expression only fading minutely at the look on Finn’s face when their eyes met. Discomfort, uncertainty, perhaps a little distrust; the same look he always wore, Poe had learned, whenever Finn was preparing for someone to hurt him.

“Of course, buddy. What do you need?” Something was off, _very_ off, and with a jolt Poe realised what it was; Finn wasn’t wearing his jacket. Poe’s smile slipped for a second and he climbed down off his X-Wing, BB-8 beeping rapidly at him before zooming off to leave them in peace, though he didn’t register what it had said.

“The jacket.” So, that was it, after all. Poe sighed quietly to himself, wondered who had said what to Finn, and perched himself on the steps up to his ship. “Did you know what it meant, when you said I could keep it?”

“I know what I meant for it to mean, but I don’t think that’s what you’re asking.” Poe was being cryptic, he knew, but he could already see the potential for how badly the conversation might go if he wasn’t careful. “You saved my life, Finn, you _earned_ that jacket, and I honestly could not care any less about what people say about me for giving it to you.”

“They’re saying it means we’re _together_ , Poe.” Finn hissed at him, eyes wider than they should have been, sounding more than a little panicked.

“Hey, no, listen.” Standing from his perch, Poe moved to stand before the other man, having to look up slightly to meet his eyes as he placed a hand on Finn’s shoulder and squeezed, noting the tension that thrummed through Finn’s body. “The jacket means no more or less than you want it to mean, don’t let other people affix meaning to something that’s _yours_. I’m your friend, first and foremost. Don’t ever forget that.”

“Yeah.” Finn smiled, and the tense energy between them seemed to dissipate. “Yeah, thanks. I’ve got some stuff to think about, but...thanks.” He stepped away then, still smiling, striding back towards the main cluster of buildings with a short wave. Poe watched him leave, mind warring with itself, right up until Finn reached the main doors and glanced back over his shoulder; Finn’s expression, the look on his face, was enough to stop Poe’s thoughts in their tracks, heart hammering in his chest and mouth suddenly drier than the desert sands of Jakku. Standing there, staring at the doors for longer than was necessary after Finn’s departure, Poe’s mind helpfully supplied that same _maybe_ he had been carrying around for the past few weeks, louder and more insistent than ever.

Poe did not see Finn again for another four days after that. Not that the absence of the ex-Stormtrooper was entirely surprising; they both had very different jobs to do, and the only place they might actually stand a chance of bumping into one another was the mess hall. Still, he could not help but miss the man terribly, and the vivid if rather inappropriate dreams Poe had been having since that night weren’t helping matters much.

The day had been long, exhausting beyond what even Poe was used to, and the hour late enough that the base was near-silent aside from the whirr of droids who never seemed to really stop and the occasional murmur of hushed voices. His own footsteps echoed, accompanied by the buzz of BB-8 at his side, the droid otherwise silent for once. He traipsed back to his room, dog-tired and in need of a shower he hadn’t the energy for. He wasn’t really expecting to bump into anyone in the corridor, not literally anyway, and certainly wasn’t expecting that person to be Finn. Recovering quickly from the impact of the accidental shoulder bump, wondering how he had managed to miss the fact that he wasn’t alone, Poe smiled up at the man as best he could, exhaustion evident.

“Hey, you okay?” Concern coloured Finn’s features, and when he reached out to take hold of his arm, Poe didn’t fight it. Rather, he leaned into the touch, tired body searching for the contact his mind had denied him for too long. BB-8 beeped happily up at Finn, pleased to see his friend, and Finn offered the droid a grin in response.

“Yeah, I’m fine buddy, just tired.” Poe replied, and damn if Finn’s shoulder didn’t look like a good place to nap at that point, fabric stretched over solid muscle and still no sign of the jacket. He _must_ be tired, Poe thought, the ridiculousness of the idea not entirely lost on him. “We’re a bit short on pilots so I’m running double shifts.”

“Alright, well I’ll let you get some rest.” Finn looked as though he wanted to say something else, and Poe was too exhausted to try to translate whatever that expression meant. “Take it easy, I’ll see you at breakfast.”

“Yeah, okay.” He might have tried to nod, but it appeared more as a dip of the head, Poe’s vision going fuzzy for a moment as his head span. He regained his composure quickly though, and a glance back at Finn showed that the other man hadn’t noticed. “Night, Finn.” Slipping away from the warmth of Finn’s touch, aching for it almost as soon as the hand was gone, Poe moved the short distance to his own room and stepped inside, BB-8 at his heels, leaning back against the door for a moment before locking it.

Poe’s boots were kicked off by the door as BB-8 wheeled straight over to it’s charging station, powering down almost immediately and, really, Poe wondered how it had managed to function for quite so long without a charge break. Pure stubbornness, he assumed with the smallest of fond smiles for his droid. He was halfway out of his flight suit - and, really, he wasn’t meant to bring the thing back to his room but he had simply been too tired to strip it off after he had landed - before he realised that something was amiss. It was nothing big, nothing obvious, but as Poe glanced around the small space he called his own, his eyes landed on his bed. Or, more precisely, what had been neatly folded and placed atop his bed.

His jacket.

All the air in the room seemed to leave at once and Poe stumbled, landing by pure fluke on the edge of his bed, gulping down breaths as trembling fingers took hold of the worn leather and pulled it into his lap. It was there, which meant that Finn had been there, had been in his room with the sole intent of returning the jacket. Which made sense, really; Finn’s room was nowhere near Poe’s, so why else would he be only feet from his door? It was late enough, as well, that Poe should, by all rights, have returned hours ago. Had Finn waited for him? Had it been pure fluke that Poe had returned when he had? Finn had clearly wanted to speak with the pilot, perhaps to give him some sort of explanation, a _thanks but no thanks_.

Poe didn’t want an explanation, and he most certainly did not want his jacket back.

It was light outside by the time Poe fell asleep, wrapped in the jacket that still smelt so much like Finn. He kept telling himself, over and over, that he was being ridiculous, that it was a silly crush and nothing more. Yet, that didn’t stop the pain. Didn’t stop the way his chest ached and head pounded and eyes itched. He _loved_ Finn, whether he liked it or not. Whether _Finn_ liked it or not. Yet, there was nothing he could do; the meaning of the jacket’s return was clear, he had been rejected. Not verbally, but it was a rejection nevertheless.

He missed breakfast entirely. Waking at almost midday, Poe rolled out of bed in a daze, splashing water on his face to wash away the tracks down his cheeks. Tears he hadn’t wanted to shed while awake had spilled out in his sleep, dreams haunted by what he couldn’t have, nightmares waking him more than once in the few hours he slept. He had a while, still, until he was due to fly again. He should try to get more rest he knew, knowing it would likely be a while before he would be able to sleep again, and yet his sheets looked cold and unwelcoming, the jacket splayed out over his pillow.

He might as well wear it, he thought, shrugging it on under his flight suit, feeling the strange sensation of a familiar weight across his shoulders. He should really have changed his clothes, or at the very least showered, and yet neither prospect seemed overly appealing at that point.

Eating was out of the question; the very idea of it made Poe’s stomach lurch unpleasantly. He woke BB-8, the droid whistling its concern at the tired, haunted look on it’s human’s face. Poe simply smiled and chalked it up to bad dreams; not a lie, entirely, but BB-8 did not seem convinced.

He was early to the mission briefing, for lack of anything better to do, and if Poe’s bedraggled appearance turned a few heads in concern, well, he found that for once he didn’t much care. He noticed General Organa’s attention fall on him a few times during the meeting, but she remained silent on the matter, and for that he was grateful. She would likely interrogate him personally on his return, but for the moment at least the mission had to be their priority.

It sounded like a simple enough mission; the First Order had set up camp in a solar system a little too close for the Resistance’s liking, though it seemed to be something of a fluke. They had not been found out just yet, but their location had to be kept secret and it would only be a matter of time before a wandering TIE fighter found them if the enemy base was allowed to remain and grow. The base itself was small, only a few hundred soldiers and very little in the way of a chain of command. They had a few ships, it seemed, but nothing too big. Nothing they couldn’t handle, even with their reduced numbers.

“Alright, sounds like a cake walk.” Poe flashed the room his trademark grin, the expression not reaching his eyes, but it seemed to do the trick. Some of the tension dissipated, chatter flowing more easily as they went over the plans a second and third time, to be safe.

“You’re all going to have to be careful out there, more so than usual.” General Organa finally cut in, earning the attention of everyone in the room. “I’d prefer to send out both red and blue squadrons, but that’s not an option right now and this needs to happen sooner rather than later. Poe,” She turned her gaze to him once more, and he nodded his assent. “You’ve got half a squadron on this one, bring them all home in one piece.”

“Yes ma’am.” He saluted, grinning again though the General’s expression did not change. She watched him leave, he could feel her eyes on his back as he filed out of the room with the handful of pilots under his command, and could sense that, somehow, she _knew_.

The mission should have been easy, should have been _fast._ They were estimated to return by that evening, another victory under their belts. Back in time for supper, his Mother used to say, shooting Poe the same grin that he himself wore so often, disappearing amongst the stars while he played with the other kids his age. They were so _similar_ , people used to say, and Poe wondered just what she would say about his predicament, if she would like Finn. Of course she would, he berated himself, _everyone_ liked Finn, and for good reason.

The Star Destroyer seemed to come out of nowhere, massive bulk casting a shadow over their fight and the air seemed to go cold. One moment, it was Poe and the six pilots he had been assigned for the mission against eight TIE fighters, the Rebellion’s forces clearly about to take the victory in the dogfight, the next they were outnumbered and out-gunned.

“Blue three, bank left!”

“I see him. _Shit_ , he’s on me!”

“I’ve got your back.”

“I’m hit, guns offline, not good.”

“Jess, get the hell outta there!”

“All of you, retreat, we need to get out of this alive.” Poe was trying to keep a level head, really he was, but as he dodged and weaved he knew his reactions weren’t what they should have been. His exhaustion was starting to show, black hedging the corners of his vision, and focus was proving difficult. He covered Jess as she made the jump ahead of the others, took out two of the TIE fighters following him, all the while issuing commands across the comms link to his squad.

“Dameron, what the hell are you doing?”

“Covering your tail, Wexley, now get outta here.” There was a pause of only a few seconds before Snap made the jump as well, the last of the six to leave.

Which left Poe, alone, with the three remaining TIE fighters, the Star Destroyer and a damaged X-Wing. He had taken a hit, fairly early on, one that he really should have been able to dodge. The resulting crack stretched from one side of the glass before his eyes to the other, and he knew that the jump to lightspeed would be all it needed to shatter, killing him instantly, which meant there was no escape.

If he was going to die, Poe thought, he might as well take a few more of these First Order bastards with him.

Levelling his fighter out, Poe squeezed the trigger and watched as the leftmost TIE fighter exploded, grinning to himself as he pulled up and around at the last possible minute, dodging enemy fire. The far right TIE went down just as easily; they didn’t call him the best pilot in the Resistance for nothing, after all.

The third proved to be rather more tricky, and Poe was certain he caught a flash of chrome as he banked left. Choosing not to dwell on it, he played cat and mouse with the other pilot for several long minutes, neither able to best the other, until one lucky shot from the First Order starfighter clipped him.

Controls unresponsive, Poe knew that was it; he was finished. No matter what he tried, the X-Wing refused to respond to any sort of input, the windshield creaking ominously. “Looks like it’s just you and me now, Bee Bee.” No response; comms were down, and with no link to the droid on the back of his fighter, he couldn’t even talk to the little unit. “Sorry, buddy.” He sighed to himself, leaning back in the chair and letting his hands fall into his lap.

Poe closed his eyes, feeling the heavy weight of his leather jacket across his shoulders and it was almost, _almost_ , like having arms wrapped around him, the tight embrace of the man he loved, there for him even in his final moments. The jacket still smelled like Finn, hidden beneath the garish orange of his flight suit, and at that moment, behind the dark of his eyelids in the cold expanse of space, Poe could pretend that maybe, _maybe_.

_He hadn’t even said goodbye._

In the last remaining TIE fighter, Captain Phasma took aim, and fired.


End file.
